If that were so, then surely this one had been left behind. There were no giants in Vrondaheim. Not any longer. They’d all been driven back to their own world of Skolnir ages ago, and those that had remained had been hunted down or driven far into the cold reaches of the north. Could this child be left from the days when giants ruled the Bryndlholt? Or had it been birthed and left here more recently from some stranded she-giant?
The answer, she decided, didn’t matter. Now that it was here, she would see it freed. Food and water forgotten, she dug at the earth around the rest of his body, using her hands at first but soon resorting to the shavings of stone left over from the landslide. When her hunger and thirst threatened to overwhelm her, she hiked to a brook she’d passed shortly before reaching the site of the slide. She found some wild lingonberries to eat, and she relished these, the tart taste of the fruit making her mouth water while she ate. As soon as she’d finished eating, though, she returned to the giant and continued to dig. She managed to excavate nearly all of the giant’s sleeping form—all except the stone beneath him. He was curled up, his arms around his legs, his body resting—now that the earth around him had been shoveled away—on a great slab of stone, the bulk of which still lay beneath the surface of the earth. He was connected to that stone, she saw, not merely lying upon it. She could never hope to break him free, not without chisels and hammers and pry bars like the smithy used to forge Hrindegaard’s axes and shields and the harnesses for the great eagles.
She thought at least she should clean him, for dried dirt stuck to him everywhere. Using a shard from one of the nearby crushed stones, she cut free a large leaf in the shape of a cupped hand and returned to the stream. She brought this back and with a torn length of her ruined right sleeve began to wash him. Though his skin was the color of the stars at night—a dark grey that twinkled like the gauze of stars—he was not, as she had at first assumed, as hard as stone. His skin felt more like boiled leather, tough but still pliable. She pressed hard on his bicep and watched as it slowly returned to form. She pressed on his thigh, excited in a way that reminded her of the time she’d played physic with Irik, but then, embarrassed, she felt as if she were taking too many liberties and returned to her chore, working methodically, trying, as strange as it seemed, to give him a bit of privacy while doing so.
It took her four trips back to the stream, but by high sun she had him cleaned as well as she was able. She could see now variations on his skin, blemishes of darker grey not so unlike the freckles on her own arms and face. She could see the veins that ran beneath his skin, though when she pressed her finger to it she could sense no pulse.
She didn’t know what she was thinking would happen when she was done—perhaps that he would move, that he would rise now that he’d been fully liberated from the earth—but he didn’t. He merely lay where he was in the same position, looking pained somehow, though she could only see a part of his face, buried as it was between his arms.
She looked to the mountains for a time, watching again for eagles, and again seeing none. She should probably leave, make her way to higher ground and wait for one of them to find her, perhaps try to build a fire. They might be searching for her in the wrong part of the holt, but they would eventually make their way here, and there was no sense in her hiding anywhere but in plain sight. But then her attention was drawn up to Skolnir, a bright pinpoint between the clouds that drifted over the afternoon sky, and it reminded her of the standing stones she’d seen yesterday.
Among the whoops of the strange birds and chittering of the insects and the calls of other animals she couldn’t identify, she made her way through the thick undergrowth and back to the standing stones. As she did so she watched constantly through the dark branches for any hints of the white wyrm.
She came to the stones after a time and stood at the center of them. Stones had many purposes, but one of them was to align the nine worlds, to dictate their place in the heavens and ensure that they stayed in proper balance with one another, as the gods had decreed when the worlds were formed. Other stones, no longer in need in this time of peace, protected Bryndlholt from the magics of the Eldings and Draugr and even the fire giants of old. And it made her wonder what these stones might be for. She ran her hands along the moss-covered surface of each, tracing each rune with her fingers. She wished she’d studied harder under old Kaisa’s tutelage. She might have known more, or been able to guess it.
Above her, Skolnir was again visible through the narrow tunnel created by the citadels that crowded this space. It was going to pass directly overhead.
Just like it had yesterday.
Just before the earthquake.
She stood in the center of the circle once more and stared upward, expectant.
She knew these stones had something to do with the earthquake, perhaps even something to do with the giant himself. As she continued to stare, nothing happened. She licked her lips, willing something to occur. She’d been so sure of it.
And then she felt it. A warmth inside her just before she felt the tremor beneath her feet. The shaking was slight, nothing like what had happened yesterday, but the feeling sent a thrill through Eiren just the same. It felt as though she had caused the tremor to happen, though she recognized this for the child’s notion it was.
When it had stopped she ran back through the undergrowth, faster than was wise. As she neared the break in the trees where the rockslide had occurred, she called ahead, “Did you feel it?”, hoping the giant could somehow hear her.
But when she reached the hill’s exposed earthen face, the giant was gone.
Eiren fell asleep that night wondering where he might be, wondering if he was scared like she’d been when she’d woken up beneath the lower canopy. She looked for his tracks and found them with little difficulty. She even followed them for a time, but when she realized how quickly his long strides must be taking him, and with night fast approaching, she decided she couldn’t risk getting caught in the forest at night. A light rain began to fall, so she lay within the cocoon he’d left in the hill, shivering, wondering if he was going to come back, and if he did whether he was going to crush her with the stomp of a foot.
When she woke the next morning the sun had yet to rise, but the light in the east was shining golden on high, thin clouds. She tracked him in earnest, then. Her feelings that she’d abandoned him to the forest quickened her steps, but the further she went, the more she realized she’d never be able to catch up with him. She was slowed by the lush undergrowth. Thickets of thorny plants—likely poisonous—he’d trudged through, surely receiving not a scratch for doing so, while Eiren was forced to make her way around them and pick up the trail again on the other side. The same was true of a bog she came to. It smelled noxious, and she didn’t trust the water, nor the strange plants with the bright red leaves within it. So she skirted this as well. She was nearly ready to turn back when she saw his footprints crossing the trail she’d been following. He must have doubled back, and she had a good idea why.
But before she’d taken a step along the new path she heard a soft rattle-scratch sound at the edge of hearing. She went immediately still. She swept her gaze over the branches and leaves above her and spotted movement through the leaves of the canopy. She just had time to duck beneath the leaves of a fern before a massive white head dipped down between the dark green leaves. It swung this way and that, its tongue tasting the air.
Golnvangr had found her.
But how? And why would the great wyrm have followed her here?
Golnvangr scanned the ground below. In the twilight darkness of this place his white skin seemed to glow. He slid lower, and she was sure he’d sensed her. She prepared to bolt, or to stand and fight as Caudlyn had done, but then his ivory head raised up through the leaves, his body rolling behind like one long wave of scale and muscle and bone.
She waited for a long time after that, but eventually dared to move. She picked up the giant’s trail where it had crossed the one she’d been
following and eventually came to another crossing and another and another after that.
The giant was lost; that much was clear. Surely he was looking for the standing stones. How he could know about them she couldn’t guess—perhaps he’d seen them being raised before he’d been buried beneath the earth. Or perhaps he sensed them but didn’t know their exact location.
In her rush to catch up she nearly stumbled over him. He was in the middle of a glade, on his knees with his palms and one cheek pressed against the damp earth. He looked not so different from the way he’d been trapped beneath the earth, and in fact he was so still she thought he might have gone to stone once more.
But he hadn’t. He was all too alive.
He stood and faced her, towering nine feet at the shoulder at least. He stared down at her, eyes glittering from within his darkened face.
And then he spoke. What words he might have said she had no idea, but the words came out in one long, hoarse utterance. It was a guttural language, but beautiful just the same, and again she found herself wishing she’d listened to Kaisa more closely. He took one step toward her, his expression threatening. He raised his hand back as if he meant to strike her.
She withdrew, putting one of the smaller trees between them.
He didn’t approach, but watched her warily, and she realized he hadn’t been trying to strike her. He’d been trying to scare her away. He reminded her of Rikard when he tried, sometimes successfully, to bully Tinder or Caudlyn or Trind. The giant simply wanted her to leave.
She might have if she didn’t know what he was looking for. But she did. And she knew he was in trouble and that in all likelihood he simply wanted to go home. So she swallowed hard and stepped forward again. “I know where they are,” she said loudly, pointing in the direction that would take them to the stones. “The circle,” she called. “Hringr,” using the old word, one of the few she recalled from Kaisa’s lessons.
At this the giant stopped. He stared at her more closely, his hands lowering. “Hringr.”
“This way.” She waved to him, and began heading through the forest. “Hringr,” she repeated, pointing wildly.
His steps were tentative at first, but then he followed with some speed. He caught up to her easily and seemed eager for them to arrive.
They were close—she knew that they were, for the land looked familiar—but something was wrong. Up ahead she heard noises. Heard the soft sway of leaves as they were brushed aside. The occasional snap of a fallen branch. Through the growth, five women were approaching with Solveig the Druinad at their lead.
Eiren turned at a sound of surprise from the giant. When she saw his look of surprise and anger she realized how this must look. He thought she’d led him into a trap.
“No!” she called as the giant began to back away. “They’re not here to hurt you!”
“Eiren!” Solveig called in her husky voice.
At this the giant bristled. His stance shifted and the muscles along his arms and shoulders flexed.
A gasp came from Solveig.
The other women called orders and pulled their rune-headed axes.
Several had shields at the ready and these came forward, putting themselves at the vanguard as they advanced.
The giant glared at Eiren, then the warriors, then Eiren again, his face clearly confused and hurt. Then he ran, his big loping strides taking him deep into the forest, while Eiren was trapped, surrounded by the axemaidens in their leather-wrapped skins and conical helms and bared weapons.
“What happened, child?” Solveig asked as she turned Eiren around and inspected her carefully. “Did he hurt you?”
“No! I was taking him to the standing stones! Just there! Please! Let me bring him home.”
Solveig took in the forest where Eiren had pointed, but then gave Eiren over to the women. “You’re speaking nonsense, child.”
In many ways it felt as if that were so. What would she have done had she brought the giant to the circle? Nothing, for she understood not the first thing about them.
She wanted to argue, but the giant was long gone, and there would be no leading him back now. He would never trust her again. So she let Solveig lead her to the clearing where six eagles awaited, the nearest of them preening its great wings.
She climbed upon Solveig’s eagle, sitting behind her in the soft saddle that wrapped around the bird’s chest. As the eagles’ wings beat and they lifted into the sky, Eiren looked westward, hoping to see the stones. It was a fool’s hope. That place was buried too deep in the holt to be seen from here.
She did, however, see a glimpse of white.
She saw it move.
Saw it slither.
Golnvangr, and he was headed for the standing stones.
“Look!” Eiren called, pointing toward the wyrm. “It’s Golnvangr!”
Solveig did, but by then they had lifted, taking them high enough that the wyrm was hidden. “Then fortune has shined upon you, child, for we found you just in time.”
“But the giant! Golnvangr will find him. He’ll eat him just like he did Caudlyn!”
“What of it, Eiren? He is but a giant and no worry of ours.”
“He’s a worry of mine!”
The eagles were circling now, gaining altitude. They had cleared the height of the lower canopy and were winging upward toward the middle canopy.
Solveig glanced back at Eiren, a stern expression on her broad face. “Eiren, you’re tired. We’re headed home. Golnvangr won’t worry about some lone giant in the holt, and even if he does, the giant will most likely be able to defend himself.”
They climbed higher, reaching the height of the middle canopy. Soon they would crest the tops of the citadels and be on their way back to Hrindegaard. It would be so simple then for Eiren to find a warm fire, drink some tea, and say her farewells to Caudlyn. But she couldn’t just go. She couldn’t abandon the giant to fend for himself against Golnvangr like she had Caudlyn.
She loosened the leather strap that held her secure to the saddle. “I won’t leave him,” she said, more to herself than Solveig.
“You haven’t a choice child,” Solveig said, returning her attention to the way ahead and the reins in her hand. “Now hush.”
At that word, hush, she released the strap and slid backward off the saddle. She slipped down along the eagle’s back as Solveig turned and snatched at her legs, her eyes wide. “Eiren!”
But Eiren was already too far. She fell free and into open air. She snapped her wingcloak into place and caught the air, guided it to turn her toward the place she’d seen Golnvangr slithering.
“Turn back, maidens!” she heard Solveig call.
Eiren flew into the holt’s middle section. It was risky flying—the trees were tighter here than among the holt’s upper reaches—but it was not so bad as trying to fly through the thick lower section. She would not be able to see through the canopy to spot the giant, nor the circle of stones, nor Golnvangr, but she didn’t need to. She only needed to find the hole that went all the way up from the stones to the sky above.
She saw it ahead, but plotted her course carefully, watching the leaves for signs of lift, and she did indeed see some. She flew over these places, letting them buoy her as she circled wide around the open hole in the canopy below. She spied nothing, and thought surely she’d been mistaken, that this had all been a fool’s errand, but then she saw a flash of white. She heard a bellow of surprise as well. The sound of a great scuffle below her.
She wasted no time. She made straight for the hole, dipping down as she reached it and diving straight into the thick growth toward the trunk of white she saw before her. Another cry resounded through the trees as leaves and branches slapped at Eiren.
Eiren didn’t care, though. The trees could scrape her if they wished. She screamed as she’d heard the axemaidens do so many times before in their battle play and slipped just below Golnvangr’s sinuous body. She had only the one set of claws, but she used them now, raking them across its s
cales, digging into Golnvangr’s soft underbelly as if it were a citadel upon which she hoped to land. The skin of the wyrm was resilient, and Eiren had not the strength of Rikard or Tage to cut through it, but she had come in with such velocity that her momentum and the claws did the rest. Sharp claws cut deep as her body slipped underneath the bulk of the white wyrm, and then she released.
The wyrm let out a pained roar that seemed to fill the whole of the Bryndlholt. It swung its head around—the giant all but forgotten—and shot after Eiren.
Eiren hoped to flee, but she had lost too much velocity and there wasn’t enough room in the lower canopy to build up more. She dropped and landed hard in the verdant growth, the wind whooshing from her lungs. She rolled onto her stomach, pulled herself onto her knees, struggling to regain her breath as Golnvangr’s broad, arrow-shaped head slid into view ahead of her.
She spread her feet wide, pulled her left hand back, ready to strike for Golnvangr’s one good eye. If she was to die, she would make this beast feel her bite. She was of Hrindegaard, and small or no, that was nothing to trifle with.
Golnvangr speared forward, his curving fangs unsheathed.
A blur of black night shot in from the right. The giant caught Golnvangr just behind the bulbous shape of its head. His momentum carried him and Golnvangr wide of Eiren. They fell into the dark brush nearby, their forms writhing as Golnvangr’s long white body coiled behind.
Eiren ran after, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Golnvangr had the giant—he would bite him or poison him or wrap his body around him and press the breath from his glinting ebony frame—but she’d not gone five steps when Golnvangr’s tail whipped down from the trees above and caught her across the chest. She was thrown across the forest floor, skidding over the moist earth until she crashed into the base of a citadel. Pain rushed through her, and panic rose as her breath refused to come. She rolled onto her stomach, then to her knees, ears ringing as she willed her lungs to fill once more.
Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories Page 21
